When Everything Was Falling Apart
by foreverabean
Summary: Cooper Anderson boarded a plane to Chicago four years ago and hasn't looked back. That is, until he plans a surprise visit that throws everything into chaos that no one was expecting.
1. Wedding Bells and Unanswered Texts

**A/N: This fic follows canon up until the end of On My Way, and from there it spins off into my somewhat-headcanon after the events of Quinn's crash. This was prompted by someone on Tumblr recently posting about "what if Cooper had been the driver of the truck that hit Quinn." This fic quickly followed.  
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**I went with an M rating due to pretty much the whole thing being based around the car crash; it gets into detail and I know that's triggering to a lot of people, so you have been warned. **

**Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!  
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><p>It's five minutes after Rachel Berry was supposed to walk down the aisle to meet Finn Hudson.<p>

Kurt is sitting on the armrest of Blaine's chair, twisting the pink bouquet in his hands and wondering how the _hell _he'd been talked into being a _bridesmaid_, and Rachel is pacing the floor, clutching her iPhone in her hand, her last, unanswered text to Quinn still lighting the screen.

"Look, Rachel, I know you want Quinn's blessing and all, and I understand, considering all the weird, gooey, BFF eyes you two have been making at each-other lately, but if you want to get this show on the road, I suggest you do it quickly," Santana pipes up, delicately recrossing her legs and shooting Rachel the bitchface only one Santana Lopez could have perfected. Kurt smirks slightly, because, really, the ongoing drama spiraling between Rachel and Quinn has reached a climax of absolute insanity.

Rachel whirls angrily to face Santana, and Kurt can sense a Rachel-Berry-drama-queen-meltdown-extravaganza building like a tidal wave, so quickly intervenes.

"Rachel, if you're dead set on tying the knot with Finn, you better get in there and do it, Quinn or no Quinn." Kurt can't believe he's actually saying this, because this _façade _of Rachel and Finn playing grownup has left a sour taste in his mouth, especially when Blaine is sitting quietly at Kurt's elbow, all dressed up in a dashing suit and bowtie, and Kurt can easily imagine that the wedding march humming in the background could be in time to his father leading Blaine down the aisle to meet him – but Kurt knows such daydreams are irrational and should be squashed immediately. No one in this uptight, prejudiced town would marry him and Blaine, and anyway, as Kurt had been trying to cram into Rachel's impossibly stubborn head, they were just too _young_. Kurt loved Blaine as much as he knew how, but there was so much _time _ahead of them. Rachel and Finn actually had the legal rights to get married, whether it was going to end up ruining their lives or not, while he and Blaine were forced to sit on the sidelines, wondering if they would ever get that chance.

Kurt realizes that he's been staring off into space for a good few seconds when Blaine places a gentle hand on his knee and murmurs, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine," he replies airily, flashing Blaine a quick smile and sliding his hand over Blaine's, twining their fingers together. Blaine smiles back, eyes brimming with everything he can't say here; Kurt knows Blaine supports Finn and Rachel's decision to get hitched, but he also knows that Blaine feels just as strongly about the marriage equality issue as he does. They've talked about it many times, words stretching deep into the night with Blaine's curly head tucked under Kurt's chin, or over half-noticed homework assignments scattered across Blaine's bedroom floor; truth be told, they're both envious of how _easy _this is for Finn and Rachel.

Rachel bounces anxiously on her toes, shifting her phone restlessly from hand to hand. Tina and Mercedes exchange a long look, and Mr. Schuester and Coach Sylvester exit the room, saying something about asking the Justice of the Peace to wait just a few more minutes.

"I'm just going to call her," Rachel bursts out, casting a harried glance at the clock on the wall. "Girls, will you please go stall or something? Tell them we can start as soon as Quinn arrives, please?"

Santana sighs audibly, flipping her carefully styled black hair over her shoulder, but rises to her feet, offering Brittany a hand and guiding the blonde out of the room.

"Maybe Quinn got attacked by that vampire or something," Kurt hears Brittany mumble as she and Santana exit, and smothers a small smile behind his hand. Poor, innocent Brittany; at least she truly believes that life is as good as she sees it.

Rachel brings the phone to her ear and turns her back on those remaining in the room, her free hand fidgeting with her veil.

"We'll see you guys at the altar," Mercedes says lowly, pushing herself off the couch and patting Kurt's knee.

"Hopefully," Tina mutters, glancing at the clock again. Both girls stride quickly out the door, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone with Rachel for a blissful four seconds of silence before Kurt hears the heavy, stumbling thumps that announce Finn's rapid approach.

"Rach, we're seriously gonna lose our spot!" Finn begs without preamble, swinging his upper body into the room. He looks slightly panicked, and Kurt almost feels bad, because Finn is no doubt honestly fearing that Rachel is going to leave him before they even reach the altar.

"Yes, I know, Finn, I'm coming – hello?" Rachel's brow creases and she claps a hand to her ear, listening intently to the voice on the other end of the phone. "No, I'm sorry, who is this? Where's Quinn?"

Rachel's eyes grow wide and her mouth drops open, and alarm bells clang in Kurt's head. Both he and Blaine shift forward, trying to hear even a word of the other side of Rachel's conversation. Finn seems frozen in the doorway, looking so absolutely confused that Kurt would have laughed had the situation not been dangling so precariously on the edge of serious.

"Oh my god," Rachel whispers, and the room is so dead silent that Kurt can hear the beating of his own anxious heart in his ears. His hand darts out to find Blaine's and grips tight; something is very, very wrong, and Kurt's stomach dances itself into painfully familiar knots.

"I… I – alright –" Rachel Berry, for once, is utterly speechless, and if that isn't a sign of tragedy, Kurt doesn't know what is. Rachel sinks unsteadily onto the leather couch, color bleeding rapidly from her face.

"Rach, what's wrong?" Finn whispers from the doorway, fingers frozen tight on the doorframe. Blaine glances at Kurt, and Kurt's stomach performs another painful flip at how downright scared Blaine looks, lips parted and trembling, eyes full of wordless concern. Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand even tighter, feeling his fingers protest, but dismisses the pain that pinches at his circulation.

"Um, okay, I – what did you say your name was?" Rachel's voice is shaking, and Kurt wants to snatch the phone from her hand, hit her over the head with the nearest bridal magazine, and demand to know what the _hell _is happening, because this feeling, this thick, cloying feeling slowly filling the room is much too familiar. When he had heard about David earlier in the week, this feeling was what had strangled him, pooled in his lungs and left him breathless. Kurt isn't sure if he can handle it again, and he is seized with the sudden impulse to leap to his feet, to run, to escape, just get away from the odor of tragedy rapidly coating his throat, but Blaine's fingers squeeze even tighter and the sharp flash of pain roots him there, keep him grounded.

"Okay, thank you, yes, we'll contact her parents, thanks…" Rachel's phone slips from her fingers and she slumps forward, shaking hands pressing to her white face.

"Rachel, what happened?" Kurt snaps, jumping up and kneeling next to Rachel at the same time Finn stumbles in and drops next to her, looking downright terrified now. "Who was that, Rachel? Where's Quinn?"

"I… I was texting her…" Rachel whispers, stricken. "I was texting her and she-"

"What happened, Rachel?" Blaine asks, taking one of Rachel's trembling hands in his and squeezing it reassuringly, and Kurt wants to cling to his boyfriend and never let him go, because Blaine, somehow, always knows exactly what to do. "Just take a breath and tell us."

"She crashed," Rachel chokes, and tears are pouring down her cheeks and the air is sucked out of the room like a vacuum, vanishing into nothing with a nearly audible _pop. _Kurt can't breathe and he heard what Rachel said, but he's not sure if he can believe it or not. "She – she crashed – she got hit by a truck – and it's _all my fault._"

Rachel dissolves into horrible, wracking sobs, her small hands twisting in the white fabric of her wedding dress, and Finn just looks blank, hand rubbing up and down Rachel's heaving back as if controlled by an outside force. Kurt sags a little, back into Blaine's chest, and oh god, _Quinn. _

"Oh my god," Blaine breathes, and Finn blinks several times at the sound of his voice, staring at a point over Rachel's head, and Kurt can practically see the cogs in his stepbrother's head turning, trying to process, trying to comprehend.

"Is she… alive?" Kurt whispers, and his voice is so much higher than normal, and he hates how fucking _scared _he sounds.

"I don't – yes, I think so – there were sirens, I think they were getting her out – that's what Cooper said –"

"Who the hell is Cooper?" Finn demands, his voice cracking. Rachel just shakes her head, choking on her tears, and Finn pulls his hand to his throat, yanking his tie loose with a shuddering intake of breath.

"Wait, Cooper?" Blaine says blankly, and Kurt glances over at him, questioning. Rachel straightens up a little and nods, rubbing frantically at her eyes and smearing dripping makeup all over her cheekbones.

"He was the one who answered the phone – I think he was the one who hit her – I-" Rachel breaks off and staggers to her feet, dropping her phone to the red leather of the couch, and Finn follows like a puppet drug along by its string, eyes glazed. "I have to tell Mr. Schue, her parents don't even know, _god –_" Rachel's hand flies to her mouth and she rushes from the room, Finn stumbling dazedly in her wake.

"Shit," It's the only thing Kurt can think to say, and he collapses, legs sprawling unceremoniously beneath him, and he feels weightless, like he's not really here anymore, rooted only by that black _feeling_, of tragedy, of fucking _death. _He can't draw breath and chokes a little, hand flying to cover his mouth, and how did this happen so _fast_?

Blaine presses in close behind him, and Kurt can feel his boyfriend's whole body shaking as Blaine loops his arms around Kurt's waist, clinging to him. Kurt twists around in Blaine's grasp, pressing his face into the smooth line of Blaine's neck, breathing Blaine in, trying to be calm when there's no calm left for him to pull from.

Quinn. Oh god, Quinn. Just an hour ago she's been walking down the hall of McKinley in her old Cheerios uniform. She'd been so _happy,_ she'd _talked _to them, and now…

"She… she said Cooper, right?" Blaine asks softly, and he sounds so small and scared that Kurt lifts his head to meet Blaine's eyes, huge and uncertain as they gaze back at him.

It takes Kurt a second to find his voice, but finally manages, "I think so… why?"

Blaine runs a hand through his thickly gelled hair, eyes darting around the room, unable to settle. His eyebrows contract tight across his forehead and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he replies.

"I mean, it probably doesn't mean anything, but… my brother's name is Cooper."


	2. That's What Brothers Are For, Right?

Blaine thinks he might throw up. And he never throws up; the only time he can remember was when he was recovering from the Sadie Hawkins dance and the pain was so… _exquisite _that he swallowed a whole bottle of pain meds. His brother had found him on his bedroom floor and shoved his fingers down Blaine's throat, and his whole body tried to reject them the only way it knew how. The upcoming pills had burned in his throat and nose to the point where he was unable to breathe, and it was terrifying and _torture_, and Blaine has no desire to experience it again. So he swallows hard and presses his face into Kurt's shoulder, holding onto his Kurt, his lifeline in the middle of all this.

"You… you have a brother?" Kurt whispers, sounding so stunned that Blaine wants to kick himself in the face for never mentioning it before.

"Yeah, um, he's older, he's twenty-six now… he lives in Chicago and I haven't seen him for… god, a year almost?"

Kurt's just staring at him, and Blaine really could kick himself. "He keeps in touch, but I kind of… forgot you didn't know." Blaine's being honest – Kurt knows him, knows so much about him, more than anyone else in the entire world, better than his parents or the Warblers, and Blaine really did forget that there were still things about his life that Kurt wasn't aware of yet. Cooper, for instance.

_Wonderful timing for coming back into my life, Coop, _Blaine thinks bitterly.

He tells Kurt everything, stroking Kurt's pale hand gently with the pad of his thumb, about Cooper's first time babysitting Blaine when he was five and Coop was thirteen, about how they joined Scouts together, and Blaine was always jealous of Cooper, the Boy Scout to his Bear Cub. He tells Kurt about how Cooper was one of the chaperones at the Sadie Hawkins dance, the one who found Blaine unconscious on the bloody asphalt, the one who ran after the jocks, screaming profanities and brandishing the bloodstained tire iron they'd left behind. Kurt is quiet as Blaine tells him how Cooper got tired of their parents' vice-like grip on the two of them, and left as soon as he was financially able, boarding a plane to Chicago and never looking back.

"You two seemed so close," Kurt murmurs, tracing the lines of Blaine's palm and glancing up to meet Blaine's eyes. "Did he really just… leave?"

Blaine nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I mean, he Skypes me sometimes, and he visits me once a year or so, but he barely talks to my parents. He never forgave my dad for hitting me when I told them I was gay."

Kurt sucks in a small breath, fingers twining tightly with Blaine's. "I'm sorry," he says hesitantly. Blaine shakes his head, forcing a smile and bringing Kurt's hand to his lips to press a kiss to Kurt's knuckles.

"Don't be. It's been a few years now, I got over it."

_If you got over it, then why can't you stop thinking about who was on the other end of that phone call?_ his subconscious asks snidely, and Blaine bites down hard on his lip. There is no logical reason why Cooper should be in Lima, so why is there this vicious knife stuck between his ribs, flaring hot every time he sucks in a breath?

Kurt's quiet, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, thin lips pressed together in a rigid line. Blaine rubs Kurt's back slowly, trying to concentrate only on the rise and fall of their combined breath, but his eyes keep being drawn to the phone Rachel left behind. Even if it's not _his_ Cooper, even if it was just some random stranger on the other line, Blaine has to know.

He pushes himself up, stretching across Kurt to snatch the phone from the leather cushions.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asks softly, blue eyes questioning.

"Just checking," Blaine mumbles, speed dialing Quinn's number and trying to calm his shaking hands. He sits back and rests his hand on Kurt's knee, fingers drumming anxiously until Kurt gently stills them, listening to the phone ring shrilly in his ear.

The line clicks and Blaine's heart slams into his throat, blocking his airway. He jerks visibly, and Kurt places a hand on Blaine's back, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his shirt, and the voice on the phone speaks, breaking through the wail of sirens and the screech of metal on metal jumbling in the background.

"Hello?"

And Blaine's stomach just drops down through his feet, landing in a quivering puddle somewhere around his toes, because he knows that voice. It's the voice that read him The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn when he was six years old, the voice that taught him how to tie the right knots in Boy Scouts, the voice that was the first thing he heard when he swam back into reality in the hospital when he was fourteen.

"Cooper," Blaine chokes, and his brother is silent for a second, swallowed by the sirens.

"Blaine?" Cooper stammers, and Blaine closes his eyes, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. _Fuck. _


	3. Of Broken Glass and Broken Hearts

**A/N: Trigger warning for some pretty intense details of the car crash and how Quinn is affected. **

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><p>All he'd wanted to do was surprise Blaine.<p>

Cooper knew how much his little brother missed him, missed having him to talk to when things got rough again, and god knows how much fucking _guilt _Cooper carried with him to Chicago the day the boarded that plane. So after six years and too many too short Skype calls, Cooper decided to come back. Not permanently, but, as only a big brother knows how, he had gone through the history of Blaine's Facebook page and discovered that his baby brother had a boyfriend - a boyfriend that Cooper had not yet heard of, which was not going to be accepted, and it was then that he made the decision to make a surprise visit back to Lima. He took a five day leave from his nighttime teaching job and boarded a plane, planning on showing up at Blaine's show choir competition Saturday morning, but his flight was delayed due to weather over Kansas City. Still, he was determined to catch at least the tail end of his little brother's performance, and drove like a madman down the highway in the idiotic truck – the only thing available to rent at short notice - checking the time every ten seconds and cursing under his breath. It had been one glance at the wrong time at the wrong intersection and Blaine was going to be getting a surprise all right – probably the worst fucking surprise of his life.

"Shit…"Cooper groans, trying to blink past the pain exploding behind his eyes as he lifts his head from the already-deflating airbag. Drops of blood quiver at the end of his nose and fall, spattering onto the white nylon. Cooper blinks a few more times and drags his sleeve across his mouth, soaking up more blood, and looks up, squinting past the crumpled hood of the truck, trying to see, trying to make any sense of what the _fuck _just happened.

The truck seems to have spun out across the road, blocking the entire right lane, and a few cars are just now slamming on their brakes, drivers surely shocked and horrified at the mess of broken glass and smoking metal strewn across the highway. Cooper isn't too surprised at the lack of a crowd – with fewer than 50,000 residents, it's pretty hard to cause a highly-populated scene.

_Oh, Lima, _Cooper thinks sardonically, _It's great to be back. _

He sucks in a breath full of smoke and burning gasoline and pushes the airbag back from his chest, trying to get a gauge on the extent of his injuries, on how badly he's hurt. His legs are aching, his knees screaming in protest of being slammed into the underside of the dashboard, and his head is pounding sickly, but nothing seems broken, at least not as far as he can tell. The impact of the little Volkswagen Bug had crumpled in the passenger side of the truck, but left the driver's side relatively undamaged, and Cooper feels a sickening jolt in his stomach as he peers past the curling smoke to see the Bug upright but crumpled and burning in the grassy ditch along the highway.

"_Fuck," _Cooper hisses, yanking at the doorhandle, trying to get the fuck _out _of the truck, because there is someone in that tiny car, someone who was alive and breathing less than a minute ago, before Cooper and this goliath fucking _truck _had smashed them off the road. The door is jammed, crumpled accordion style into itself, and Cooper swears again, slamming his elbow into the cracked glass of the window. Pain blossoms up his arm but he lashes out again, and again, until he feels like his arm is going to snap in half and his throat is ragged and raw from shouting. He claws the limp airbag out of the way and twists around in his seat, lifting his foot and smashing the heel of his dress shoe into the glass. Finally, the glass surrenders and explodes out, falling and smashing onto the asphalt, and Cooper scrambles around, yanking himself out of the window, ignoring the flashes of hot pain as the jagged edges of the remaining glass scrape through his skin on the way out.

He hits the ground and there are more people now, people shouting and yelling into their cell phones, but Cooper ignores them, has eyes only for that fucking Bug, smashed into scrap metal a hundred feet away. He starts running and spits out profanities as his ankle gives way, buckling underneath him in a wave of gut-wrenching pain, but keeps going, limping along as fast as he can, his heart filling his throat with a morbid determination.

"Hey!" Cooper shouts hoarsely as he reaches the car, staggering down the grassy incline to pound frantically on the driver's side door, leaning through the gaping window, and he almost throws up right then and there.

She's a teenager, a fucking _teenager, _blonde-haired and covered in blood, sprawled across the center console, tangled in the twisted seatbelt, beautiful brown eyes glazed and staring at nothing. And Cooper sags, has to hold himself up by clinging to the crumpled doorframe, because he hit her, he hit this girl, this teenager who can't be more than _seventeen, _and there's this whooshing in his ears, cutting out the approaching shriek of police sirens and fuck fuck _fuck._

"Hey, _hey!_" he shouts, reaching into the smoking car and grabbing the girl's wrist, trying to feel for a pulse, anything to let him know that he did not just _kill _this girl.

"Excuse me, sir!" an unfamiliar voice shouts from behind him, and Cooper whirls around to see a man dressed in firefighter's gear running towards him, tailed closely by three EMTs bearing a gurney. "Sir, are you hurt?"

Cooper shakes his head dazedly, still holding onto the girl's wrist, squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the windshields of the wailing fire engine rumbling at the curb.

"Alright, then we need you to move so we can get whoever's in there out of there."

Cooper feels something vibrate against the underside of his wrist and jerks, startled, and twists back to the car, dropping his hold on the girl's wrist to fumble for the source of the buzzing.

It's a Blackberry, somehow still intact and functioning as normal. The caller ID says "Rachel Berry," and Cooper isn't going to answer, but as the firemen shunt him aside and he sits down heavily onto the prickly grass, he can't help but imagine that this Rachel Berry is the blonde girl's friend, her sister, someone who loves her, and is panicking, not knowing where she is.

Cooper stares down at the phone as it buzzes again, and his lungs catch in his chest. This wasn't supposed to happen, damn it, _none _of it was.

The phone buzzes a third time and before he can stop himself he's lifting the phone to his ear and answering.

"Hello?" he says, and his voice comes out ragged, snagging in his throat.

"H-hello?" comes the stammer from the other line, and Rachel Berry is young, young and scared from the sound of her high, anxious voice.

Cooper glances over at the firemen working on getting the blonde girl out of her crumpled Bug, and he can see the blood even from this distance, and he can't watch, not if he wants to retain any shred of his sanity, not if he wants to be able to speak to the girl waiting on the other end of the phone.

"Hi… Are you – are you related to the owner of this phone?" All those years of college lectures on the importance of articulate speech, of how vital strong command over a classroom was for any teacher, they've all flown right out the proverbial window, and Cooper can barely stammer past the words.

"No, I'm sorry – who is this? Where's Quinn?"

Quinn. Such a pretty name. She's got a name now, and Cooper feels it all hit him at once, slamming into his chest from where it's been hovering just off to the side, everything and all of it. He hit this girl – Quinn – smashed her body into broken bones under her skin. This is _his fault, _all _his fault. _Quinn could die because of him, his foot on the gas pedal instead of the brake, his eyes on the clock instead of the road.

4:16pm. Cooper will remember that time for the rest of his life. At 4:16 he didn't stop at an intersection, and because of one second's lapse in judgment, Cooper's crossed his I's and dotted his T's and looped a flourish on this girl's death certificate.

Cooper answers Rachel's panicky questions as honestly and completely as he can, even though he's not really hearing what she's saying, he can only hear the voice in his head, hissing through the sirens.

_You fucked up again, just like you always seem to do, one way or another._

Leaving the house, leaving Blaine alone, leaving those pills within Blaine's reach; all Cooper seems to have done for years is leave. Leave when it gets too hard, too real and gritty for the night-school teacher with the perfect career and the perfect apartment and the perfect _everything. _Except, nothing's perfect. Cooper can't see how anything can be perfect, not now, in this day and age. Perfect runs parallel to this, to broken glass and broken bones. Blaine used to be perfect, perfect and innocent, but the world broke him, too, while Cooper was too distracted to reach for the glue.

Breaking and leaving. That's what he does. He leaves trails of shattered smiles and aching hearts wherever he goes.

But not this time. Cooper won't let it happen, not again, because he's not sure if he can live with that for another second. He's not fucking Atlas, and a world of guilt is far too heavy to hold.

Rachel eventually seems satisfied with Cooper's answers, and she bids him a shaky goodbye with a promise to contact Quinn's parents, and Cooper squeezes his fist around the phone, pressing it hard to his bruised lips. His eyes flicker open to see that the firemen have finally gotten Quinn out of the wreckage and are hoisting her onto a gurney. And Jesus, there's so much blood, Cooper could swim in it.

He bites down on his lip, feeling the barely closed scabs pull open and coat his mouth in blood. He spits, a mouthful of sticky red splattering onto the grass, and he closes his eyes again. Pressure is building behind his eyes and he inhales shakily through his throbbing nose, fighting the waves of dizziness starting to crash in on him.

"Excuse me, sir?" he hears again, the second time in under ten minutes, and he lifts his head to meet the eyes of another man in uniform, a cop this time. "Sir, can you give us any ID on the girl? What's your relation to her, any at all?"

Cooper shakes his head, swallowing down blood as he tries to clear his throat so he can actually speak.

"Quinn," he says hoarsely. The officer's brow creases and he leans closer.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch –"

"Her name's Quinn." Cooper snaps, and _fuck_, he thinks his head is going to explode.

"Are you all right, sir?" the officer questions, jotting something down on his notepad and casting Cooper a worried look. Cooper waves him off, trying not to wince visibly as the movement jars his bruised shoulder. Everything is starting to ache, now that the adrenaline is seeping out of his veins, and Cooper's head is spinning, faster and faster, and he's finding it increasingly difficult to keep a grip on reality.

"I'm fine. How is she?"

The officer glances over at the scene, where Quinn is being loaded hastily into the still-wailing ambulance.

"It… it doesn't look good. She'll live, but there will be… lasting damages."

Lasting damages. So many things leap to Cooper's throbbing brain.

Paralysis. Brain damage. Wheelchair. Surgery. Coma. Never walking or talking or opening her eyes again.

"Fuck…" Cooper whispers, and his throat is too tight, eyes burning too hot.

"Are you the one that hit her?" the officer asks, and Cooper glances up at the dark-haired man's nametag so as to learn his goddamn name, and he nods wordlessly.

Anthony. The cop's name is Anthony DeClare.

"I know this may not be the best time," Officer DeClare says apologetically as the ambulance takes off, carrying Quinn away in a screech of tires and sirens. "But I've got to file an accident report. If you can just tell me what happened -?"

But Cooper's waving him off, his attention drawn elsewhere by Quinn's Blackberry. It's buzzing once again in his hand, announcing an incoming call. He gets stiffly to his feet, trying to blink the hazy rainbow spots out of his vision. Officer DeClare looks vaguely pissed off, but Cooper ignores him, limping a couple feet away to answer the phone.

The same number is calling, and Cooper brings the phone to his ear, hoping he can hold himself together through what he's sure is going to be a very tearful and accusatory conversation.

"Hello?"

"Cooper." And Cooper can't breathe. His lungs have locked up and refuse to budge, and he actually trips back, as if the familiar voice on the phone has punched him right in the stomach.

Finally, after too many seconds of stunned silence, Cooper sucks in a huge gulp of air and chokes,

"Blaine?"

"Fuck, Cooper," Blaine whispers, and it's him, it's Blaine, and Cooper is reeling, unable to comprehend this, _any _of this. How did Blaine get that phone - how was Blaine even fucking _part _of this? Cooper seems to have lost his kneecaps and he sits down, _hard,_ on the grass, his whole body rattling, and he hisses in pain.

"B-Blaine," he gasps, and the words won't come, they're all tangling on his tongue and he can't pick through them quick enough to find the ones he most wants to say.

_I'm sorry. Are you okay. I fucked it up. God, Blaine, I'm so sorry. _Those are the ones he wants to say first, the ones that will mean the most, but what ends up coming out is, "How do you know Quinn?"

He may as well have poured salt into Blaine's open skin.

"She…" Blaine's voice cracks and he pauses for a second. Jesus, he sounds so much older than he did the last Skype call. "We're in Glee Club together at McKinley. I've told you about her."

And fuck, _Quinn. _The melodious Alto Blaine always gushed about. And now he remembers Rachel, too, the egotistical girl with the body smaller than Blaine's but a set of lungs to rival the kings and queens of Broadway. His eyes flutter shut and his head falls into his hand, and he's just thinking, _is this actually happening? This is too much of a coincidence. This doesn't fucking _happen.

Quinn had a baby last year, Cooper remembers. A baby. She's a mother and right now she's got about twenty bones in the wrong spots. _Fuck. _

"Oh. I remember, I -" Cooper can't go on.

"Did you really hit her?" Blaine asks roughly, and Cooper coughs out a sob, digging his nails into his forehead. _This shouldn't be happening. _

"I – yeah." he manages, and Blaine's silent while Cooper wheezes and gasps, struggling to hold himself together, to be strong for the little brother he hasn't seen in a year. That's Cooper's job, he reminds himself; look out for Blaine, always.

Too bad he's been doing a piss-poor job of it.

"Where've you been, Coop?" Blaine whispers, and the use of the nickname grabs Cooper's heart with crooked fingers and rips it right out of his chest.

He's struggling for words, struggling for air, struggling to hold on to the grayish light that's the only thing he can still see. Cooper knows he's fading out, he's watched enough doctor shows to know that much. It always happens while the person's trying to relay an important message to a loved one. Cooper clings on, desperate to be the one who actually finishes.

"I'm so… Jesus, I'm so fucking sorry, Blaine, I am, I swear. Where -where are you? I'll get there. I'll go wherever, okay? I promise." Cooper babbles, and Blaine just says lowly, "Just find me at the hospital," before the line clicks and Blaine's gone.

Cooper's arm is numb as he lowers the phone and it takes him a second to realize that the sky is purple and people are shouting and rushing towards him. The pounding in his head reaches a sickening climax and everything whirls, and the last thing Cooper thinks before he hits the ground and the purple rushes in to cover him is that he'll probably be ending up at the hospital whether Blaine actually wants him there or not.


	4. Too Much Too Soon Too Fast

**A/N: sorry this took such a while, I got distracted with (shitty) gifmaking and reading all the anderbros fics I could get my hands on, among other things. I don't think there are any warnings for this one, other than mentions of suicide and past violence and whatnot? Also, I know my hospital facts are sketchy; the mentioned hospital is real, but all knowledge of it stops there. Annnnd I actually have no idea the sort of meds people get after being injured as Blaine was after the attack, and my google research skills are not all that informative, so forgive me on that.  
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**Many, many thanks to all the people who have reviewed and favorited, it really means so much! **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Kurt's not sure how to make sense of what the hell is happening. He tries to tick things off a mental list as Blaine drives, stony-faced and silent, not meeting Kurt's eyes.<p>

_1. Quinn is in critical condition at Lima Memorial Hospital, a fifteen minute drive away._

_2. Blaine has a brother._

_3. Blaine, at one point, had been so hopeless that he swallowed an entire bottle of Codeine._

_4. The previously mentioned Brother Anderson was the one who had hit Quinn._

The list, rather than helping Kurt clear his mind, jumbles everything up even further and he's left wondering why the hell circumstance and coincidence had decided to fuck them over so completely. Kurt closes his eyes, pressing his forehead briefly against the cool glass of the window. Too much confusion pounds in his skull, a throbbing pressure behind his eyes.

He chances a quick glance at Blaine, and his boyfriend is absolutely rigid; tight lips, tight shoulders, tight fingers, and even tighter eyes. There's none of Blaine's warmth anymore, none of the exuberant joy and confidence that Blaine radiated and Kurt fell in love with.

"Blaine?" he says softly, fisting his hands in the fabric of his tux jacket, discarded in his lap. Blaine's eyes flicker off the road, meeting Kurt's for the briefest of instants. They warm just slightly, Arctic Ocean rather than polar ice cap.

"Are you okay?" Kurt whispers, and he sees Blaine's lips tremble.

"I don't know." Blaine replies shakily, and Kurt lets out a yelp as Blaine suddenly jerks the wheel to the right, bringing the car to an abrupt stop on the side of the road. Blaine's hands clench white-knuckled on the steering wheel and Kurt reaches out to him hesitantly, wanting to comfort Blaine but unsure how, seeing as Blaine's just gaping like a landbound fish and won't say a word.

"Blaine, please," Kurt begs, and Blaine just bursts into these horrible, heart-wrenching tears, and Kurt is stunned, because, sure, he's seen Blaine cry before, on the auditorium stage after West Side Story, that one night a few weeks ago after Blaine's dad screamed in Blaine's face and called him a fag, but never like this. These are _sobs, _taking over Blaine's entire body, rocking him back and forth, and Kurt's fucking powerless to stop it.

"Blaine…" Kurt whispers, leaning across the console and touching every part of Blaine he can reach, brushing his thumb over Blaine's cheek, running his fingers through Blaine's stiff hair, dropping a panicked kiss to Blaine's forehead.

"Blaine, honey, talk to me," Kurt says softly, rubbing his hand over Blaine's shuddering shoulders. Blaine struggles with the seatbelt tightening around his neck, letting out a cry of frustration choked with tears and slamming his fist down on the latch. Kurt grabs Blaine's hands in his, calmly releasing Blaine's seatbelt. Blaine lunges over the console to curl into Kurt's side, still sobbing, and Kurt wraps his arms around the younger boy, holding tight tight tight.

"That stupid _asshole,_" Blaine growls into Kurt's neck, and it's strange, hearing the insult come from Blaine's mouth; never once has Blaine outwardly said wrong about another person. Not about Sebastian, who had nearly cost Blaine his eye, not even about Mr. Anderson, who still insists on calling Kurt Blaine's "friend." And now, this older brother that Kurt has never even heard of before has reduced Blaine to furious tears and insults laced with profanities. Kurt doesn't necessarily consider himself the violent type, but he's sure he wouldn't mind taking a swing at this Cooper Anderson for making Blaine hurt so much.

"I'm – I'm fine," Blaine gasps finally against Kurt's collarbone, and Kurt doesn't even spare a thought for the state of his crisp white dress shirt, crumpled and wet with tears beneath Blaine's fists. He smoothes Blaine's hair back from his damp forehead, still making soft "shh"-ing sounds. Blaine gulps in wet, shuddering breaths and stammers, "I'm okay, it's just a lot to take in all at once…"

Blaine's long lashes droop with tears and he rubs a shaking hand over his cheeks. Kurt squeezes Blaine's shoulder gently, still reeling slightly and unsure of what to say now that Blaine's sobs have subsided.

"God, Kurt, I'm –" Blaine pulls himself back, sliding clumsily back into his own seat and rubbing his eyes furiously. "I'm sorry, that was ridiculous, you shouldn't have seen –"

"_Blaine," _Kurt says sharply, and Blaine seems to swallow his tongue, staring down at his lap with swollen, swimming eyes. "Do not even think about crawling back into that dapper, unruffled shell of yours, Blaine Anderson." Kurt says fiercely, and Blaine's lips tremble with the barest hint of a smile.

"Talk to me," Kurt whispers, leaning towards Blaine to press a gentle kiss to Blaine's forehead. "Talk this through with me, please?"

Blaine nods jerkily, taking in a deep breath. "It's just a lot, all at once. I mean… this fight with my dad, and Dave trying to kill himself… and I haven't seen Cooper in months and now he's here and he's the one who almost killed Quinn? And – I don't know how to act, if I should be angry at him, or if I should just run into his arms like I always do, or –" Blaine breaks off with a frustrated hiss, dropping his hands heavily onto the steering wheel. Kurt considers his next words carefully, weighing them inside his head.

"Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?" he says hesitantly. "Let's get to the hospital, and you can find Cooper, and if you decide you want to punch him in the face, I'll hold his arms behind his back."

Blaine barks out a shaky laugh and turns to Kurt, eyes now brimming with gratitude instead of tears. "I love you. You always know what to do." And Kurt smiles, thinking of how he had thought the same thing about Blaine not twenty minutes ago, and wondering if Blaine knows that, on the inside, Kurt feels like he's falling apart, too.  
>"I love you, too. Now let me drive."<p>

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><p>The smell of the hospital slaps Kurt in the face as they enter through the automatic doors into a rush of cold air and the scent of bleach. Kurt generally dislikes hospitals, but nearly losing his father in this same one has twisted his stomach into a quivering knot. He's almost afraid that if he turns around, he'll see his father in a barred bed again, see the IVs and the stuttering blip of the heart monitor. Kurt tries to steady himself, sucking in a deep breath that he imagines burns his throat with antiseptic, because he knows that's how he's going to see Quinn, and he has to stay strong for his friends, for Rachel and Finn and Quinn's mother, and for Blaine. Blaine, who is almost as pale as the white tile under his feet, who must be struggling to keep his face blank, free of the worry and pain that's surely lurking just beneath the surface. Blaine's eyes are still red-rimmed and swollen, but it won't seem unusual. Not here.<p>

The ER waiting room is empty except for their friends and family, who look colorful and out of place in their wedding apparel. However, Rachel, _thankfully, _Kurt thinks, has changed out of her billowing wedding gown into something a little more nondescript. Kurt and Blaine hurry over and seat themselves on the sticky plastic chairs, keeping their hands firmly clasped. Burt reaches over to squeeze Kurt's knee, bald head shining under the glow of the fluorescent lights.

"You boys doing all right?" he asks lowly, gaze shifting between the two of them. Kurt nods, offering his father a strained smile. Burt nods and leans back to wrap a protective arm around Carole's sagging shoulders. Rachel, it seems, hasn't stopped crying since the phone call, her sobs muffled into Finn's shoulder, and Kurt bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping at her to pull herself together. They're all hurting. They're all scared. The only person who should be crying like that is Mrs. Fabray, who is instead sitting tight-jawed and emotionless, unmoved by Burt and Carole's murmured comforts.

"When will we get to see her?" Blaine asks softly, breaking the anxious silence. Mercedes moves from a distraught Santana's side to sit in the empty seat beside Blaine, leaning in to speak to them softly.

"Um, Mr. Schue said they just got her in, and they're still patching her up, so it'll be a while." Kurt nods slowly, eyes scanning the waiting room.

"Where are the rest of the boys?" Rory and Finn are the only other Glee Club boys present, and the absence of Mike, Sam, Artie, and especially Puck seems strange.

"Puck said he couldn't deal with it until he knew for sure she was going to be okay," Mercedes explains, her voice breaking a little. "They all carpooled to the wedding so Mike's driving Puck home and then they'll all be here."

Kurt nods again, dropping his gaze to his lap. He wishes he could do that, escape for a few hours of sanity, wait until the worst has passed. But Blaine's here, waiting for Cooper, and he can't leave Blaine.

The seconds stretch into minutes, pulling taut in the silence. Blaine's fingers drum agitatedly on Kurt's knee and Kurt doesn't have the heart to still them. Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester talk softly between themselves, and Kurt is a little stunned to see that Sue is actually crying. He'd heard rumors about her successful impregnation and actual human emotions, but he wouldn't have believed it if he weren't seeing living proof. Seems like tragedy changes everyone.

Finally, just when Kurt thinks he might scream, a doctor brushes through the ER doors and hurries towards them, but the name they call isn't who Kurt was expecting.

"Blaine Anderson?" Blaine jumps visibly, and the first person he turns to is Kurt, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

"Why do they want me?" he whispers, and Kurt just shakes his head blankly. A dark thought twists itself into his head, but he doesn't want to say it, for fear that speaking it aloud will make it real.

"Blaine Anderson!" the doctor calls desperately, looking them all over, cheeks painted a flustered pink. All eyes turn to Blaine and Kurt gives Blaine's hand a quick squeeze, urging him up. Blaine rises, trembling at the knees, and relief slackens the doctor's face.

"Oh, thank god." she exclaims, putting a hand to her forehead and urging Blaine forward with the chart in her hand. "He was refusing care until we found you. I've been running around the entire damn ER trying to figure out who you are."

Kurt's stomach clenches even tighter, and he sees Blaine blink twice, utterly bewildered and trying to grasp what the doctor's saying. Blaine has just enough time to turn to Kurt, expression terrified and pleading before the doctor tugs him forward, past the double doors and into the cacophony of the ER beyond. The doors swing shut behind them and Kurt is left alone with dread pooling heavily in the pit of his stomach, wondering if things could possibly get any worse and listening to Rachel Berry's never-ending sobs.


	5. Somebody That I Used to Know

**A/N: I'll make this note quick, and just say thank you to the people who have favorited/subscribed/reviewed, it really means so much and I really, really appreciate it. Also, Blaine singing Somebody That I Used to Know in that promo? This is everything I've ever wanted. I connect the song so much to my Anderbros headcannon that I used it as the chapter title, don't judge me too much.  
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**Enjoy the angsty anderbros! **

**Edit: modified some typos and repeat words, flailed a lot over all the new promos (pictures and promos and sneak peeks and canon anderbros gifs leave me here to die), ignore me, carry on.  
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><p>Blaine can feel his heart pounding in the back of his throat as he follows the blonde-haired doctor into the buzzing ER. Gurneys whiz past, carrying the mangled and the miserable, and he wonders – what does that make Cooper? His breath wheezes in and out, catching in his chest, and questions flash in his brain, unspoken and unanswered.<p>

Why is he being led into this place that smells of blood and broken bones, when he'd been talking to Cooper less than an hour ago, heard him alive and well on the other line? Blaine can't think, can't grasp this situation any more than he could while bawling into Kurt's shoulder on the side of the road. Blaine knows that Cooper obviously isn't as chipper and healthy as he sounded on the phone, that Cooper's on a gurney somewhere and that's why Blaine is walking through a maze of IV feeds and metal-barred beds, but Blaine doesn't want to believe it. He just wants to hold onto the last memory he has of his brother, alive and smiling and hugging him tight, just the way he always has, as long as Blaine can remember.

His heart is pounding out a percussion in his throat when he and the doctor round one last corner and Blaine sees Cooper, and, in retrospect, it's not nearly as bad as he's imagined. Cooper's got blood on his blue button-up and all over his nose and mouth, but otherwise he looks relatively unharmed and smiles when he sees Blaine. And fuck, Blaine's heart just breaks, because he had been such a _dick _to Cooper over the phone and now Cooper's in a hospital bed and Blaine could just punch himself in the face.

"Blaine," Cooper says hoarsely, struggling with the IV feed in his arm and swinging his long legs off the bed. Blaine almost smiles at the height difference; his brother is notorious for never-ending short jokes, and Blaine hates to admit it, but Cooper really did end up hogging all the tall genes. Perfect, tall, handsome, _straight_ Cooper got everything, Blaine sometimes thinks. Bitterly, of course, and hastily stifled, but thought nonetheless.

"Hey, Coop." Blaine says softly, standing rigidly with his arms at his sides. He wants to reach out and touch Cooper, just to make sure he's real and Blaine's not just living out some colorful dream sequence, but he's still trying to decide whether or not to be angry. Cooper just stands there, watching him anxiously, and Blaine finally gives in, reaching out to fist his hand in the soft fabric of Cooper's blood-stained button up. The cloth is very real and very warm from the heat of Cooper's body, and Blaine's not dreaming – Cooper is actually standing right in front of him and Blaine decides not to care that he's angry for thirty seconds – just thirty seconds. He staggers forward into Cooper's arms, dragging the scent of Old Spice through his nose, clinging to his brother like he's drowning and Cooper is the only live preserver in the entire ocean.

"Where the hell have you been?" Blaine growls into Cooper's shirt, and Cooper chokes through a sobbing laugh and presses his face into Blaine's hair.

"I'm sorry," he babbles, locking his arms tight around Blaine's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I should have come back sooner, I –"

"Sir, we have to insist you sit down!" the doctor who led Blaine in says sharply, hovering at Cooper's elbow with his trailing IV feed. Blaine jumps slightly, having forgotten she was still present. "Your ankle is sprained, you have undiagnosed head trauma, and –"

"Head trauma?" Blaine says, drawing back to stare at Cooper in alarm. He looks relatively fine, a little tired, maybe, dried blood on his face and dark circles under his eyes, but head trauma?

Cooper's mouth twists ruefully and he limps back, perching obediently on the edge of the gurney. It's the only time Blaine has seen Cooper do as he's told, so he knows that this isn't some joke or over exaggeration; this is real and this is serious and Blaine tries to steady himself. It probably wouldn't be fitting to pass out and cause more trouble than they've already got.

"Yeah, after our phone call I sort of blacked out for a little while." Blaine looks to the doctor imploringly but Cooper cuts her off before she can speak. "I'm fine, I just hit my head on the steering wheel."

"You blacked out for more than a 'little while,' and this isn't a situation where we're going to take any chances. However," the doctor adds, perhaps seeing Blaine's look of rising panic and deciding to waylay it, "it may be no worse than a concussion. We'll run some tests to be sure rather than sorry."

"Just give me a minute, all right?" Cooper snaps as a couple interns move in and try to push him back on the bed. "You can X-Ray my head when I'm good and ready."

The doctor throws up her hands and strides out, taking the interns with her and jerking the curtain shut behind them. Cooper lets out his breath and pats the space next to him, but Blaine shakes his head, too antsy to sit. His thirty seconds are more than up, and he feels the first stirrings of anger in his chest. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, because he really, _really _doesn't want to punch Cooper in the face, and not just because Kurt isn't around to make good on his promise to hold Cooper's arms.

Cooper lifts one shoulder in a shrug and runs a hand through his tangled hair, blue eyes darting around the makeshift room. He looks uncomfortable and upset and Blaine wants to say something, yell a few things, maybe, but his tongue seems to have swollen to unmanageable proportions and the words die in his throat. Cooper eyes him, breathing light and shallow, and for once, the cocky smartass with the tongue pre-wired with witty comments has nothing to say, either. Finally, Blaine manages a croaking, "You've got blood everywhere."

Cooper half-smiles. "I just bashed my face into a steering wheel and spent the last twenty minutes unconscious. I don't think my appearance is my biggest concern at the moment."

Blaine rolls his eyes and reaches for one of the blue medical towels draped over the end of the gurney, setting to wiping the blood off Cooper's face, still too uptight and angry to be gentle.

"This how you tend to Kurt?" Cooper asks teasingly, wincing as Blaine scrubs the towel over Cooper's swollen nose.

"You wouldn't know, would you?" Blaine shoots back, crumpling the towel and tossing it aside. He glares at Cooper, crossing his arms across his chest and trying to figure out what the hell to _feel. _

Cooper's smile falters and his eyes lower, focusing on his blood-caked knuckles.

"Yeah, well… I guess I wouldn't." he murmurs. Blaine tries to bite his tongue, he really does, but it's like the pressure of everything is building in his throat, crowding and rushing forward like a crowd in a mosh pit, and the words that burst out of him are sharp and furious, thrown at Cooper's head like knives.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Cooper?" he explodes, shouting right in Cooper's face, the way he hasn't in years, since Cooper was sixteen and Blaine was eight and Cooper had stolen Blaine's favorite bowtie and flushed it down the toilet, since the night before Blaine came out and Cooper had made some stupid comment about gays that Blaine doesn't even remember anymore. Both events had ended in noogies and microwave popcorn, but Blaine doesn't see that now. He just sees anger and frustration and more blood than a baby-blue towel is going to soak up. He sees Quinn, broken for the rest of her life. He sees Cooper, the one who broke her. He sees himself, never knowing where to stand between them. And Blaine's angry, fucking _furious, _because it's not fucking _fair. _

Cooper bites down on his lip, blue eyes fluttering closed, and Blaine shoves at his shoulder, demanding a response, because no, he's not just going to take the silence.

"Answer me, Cooper! Why are you here? Why now? You couldn't be bothered when I almost lost an eye! You didn't even _call, _Coop." And Blaine's voice is breaking, as hard as he tries to keep it together, because the silence from his big brother had been almost as painful as the rock salt. Cooper looks sick, lips trembling and fingers white-knuckled on his knees as Blaine shouts, and Blaine growls in frustration and turns away, bracing his fists on the cool tile of the wall.

"Mom only called a week after it happened," Cooper says lowly and Blaine flinches, squeezing his eyes shut against the quiet grief in Cooper's voice. "And she said that you were okay, and that I shouldn't worry about it, and that's all I fucking got. I would have been there in a second, Blaine. Why didn't _you _call _me_?"

Blaine blinks hard against the tears filling his eyes and stares at the wall, glaring at the lines in the tile as if they're the ones twisting his heart into knots. "Because I didn't think you would come." he whispers.

Silence. Blaine doesn't dare look at Cooper, for fear of the expression on his brother's face. He knows how deep those words must have cut Cooper, who had only left because he couldn't take the nightly fight with their father, who had actually saved Blaine's _life _when Blaine couldn't take the pain of living anymore, and Blaine's already regretting his words, forming frantic apologies in his head. Cooper eventually speaks, his voice tight and level.

"You asked why I'm here now. I wanted to surprise you. I found out about Kurt through your Facebook, and I wanted to meet him and I wanted to see you perform, and my fucking flight was delayed, and I was going too fast and she came out of fucking _nowhere._"

Blaine finally looks back at Cooper, and Cooper stares back, jaw set but tears glittering in his eyes, and that hurts Blaine more than he would ever admit, seeing his brother cry. Blaine was always the one that cried and Cooper was always the comforter, the one whose arms Blaine would fall into after a miserable day of school, where the insults and slurs were more consistent than the subjects he was learning. Cooper never cried in front of Blaine, and now Blaine was the one making him cry.

"Fuck, Coop, I…" Blaine's throat tightens and he can't breathe, can't see past his own tears.

Cooper's mouth tightens and he shakes his head. "No need to say sorry, Blainers." he murmurs, running his hand tiredly over his face. "I should be the one apologizing. I know I fucked up."

Blaine lets out a shaky breath and sags back against the wall, every inch of him trembling. They stay there in silence for a minute, just breathing through the tears, and Blaine listens to the sounds of the hospital, the sporadic beeps of someone else's heart as he tries to slow his own.

"How's, uh, how's Quinn?" Cooper asks softly, clearing his throat and speaking to his shoes, and Blaine recognizes them; soft brown loafers. He'd laughed when Cooper bought them so many years ago, said he looked too much like a respectable businessman for his own good. Cooper had thrown the shoebox at Blaine's head and told him he'd burn Blaine's bowties if he ever said that again.

Blaine sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair, now loose and ungelled after hours of repeating the agitated habit. "We don't know. I'm only back here because you're an _idiot _and refused to let them take care of you."

Cooper laughs weakly, pressing his forehead into his palm. "Yeah, but it got you here, didn't it?"

And Blaine can't stop the words that tumble from his lips, can't stop the fresh wave of tears."I missed you, Coop." Blaine whispers, and Cooper looks up at him, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Blaine's not angry anymore, how could he be?

"I'm so fucking sorry, Blaine." Cooper makes a move to stand up but all of the sudden his face turns slightly green and he's heaving forward, a strangled choking noise stuttering from his throat. Blaine's frozen in shock, unable to move or process as his brother rocks forward and throws up all over those stupid loafers.

"Fuck – " Cooper rasps, teetering forward onto his hands and knees on the floor, and Blaine finally unfreezes, shouting for help until his throat feels like it's going to tear. Cooper heaves again and Blaine sees his eyes roll up into his head, and Blaine lunges forward, grabbing Cooper by the shoulders before Cooper can fall face-first onto the tile.

_"Help!" _Blaine screams, clinging to Cooper's dead weight, and the curtain is ripped aside as a team of doctors charge towards them. Cooper is yanked from Blaine's protesting arms and no, Blaine just got him back, Blaine made him cry, he has to apologize, they can't just _take him away. _

"Sir, you need to move!" the blonde-haired doctor orders, and Blaine wants to scream at her, blame her for this, because she left Cooper alone with him. He wants to blame her for everything, just to have someone to blame, but he knows his won't change anything. It won't change a delayed flight, a MPH too fast on the highway, a text message or a collision. It won't change a head trauma, hours in a waiting room, or Cooper being whisked away on a gurney to MRIs and CAT scans and god knows what else. And Blaine is left alone, blaming no one but himself for the things he said to Cooper, for how easily he let himself lose control, for how easily he lost sight of what must have been going on inside Cooper's head. A swollen brain and too many guilt-ridden thoughts – they're not so different, really, and Blaine hates himself for not being able to see that.

So he stays on the floor, cradling his head in his hands but refusing to cry because crying is just like blame; it doesn't change a single fucking thing and in the end, you're still left carrying the same burden you were before.


	6. All I Need is One More Chance

**A/N: Just a quick note to say that just one more chapter and this little fic will be complete, and thank you so, so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, favorite, and review! I really appreciate it, thank you. Enjoy the Andersob brothers. **

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><p>The room swims hazily into focus, but Cooper is acutely aware of the pulsing ache in the base of his skull. He blinks, trying to dismiss the strobing lights that burst in front of him with every beat of his heart and throb of his head. The hospital room finally stops spinning and he swallows, mouth tasting stale and bitter.<p>

Blaine is there, that's the first thing Cooper notices, and he's almost surprised. He's about to tell himself that he shouldn't be surprised, that the Anderson brothers are always there for each other, no matter what, but is all too aware of how poorly he's been living up to that, so he bites his proverbial tongue.

Blaine stirs slightly, his head drooping a little lower on his shoulder, curly hair half-gelled and completely disheveled. Cooper feels a surge of guilt slam into his gut when he sees the heavy bags under Blaine's eyes, and he sucks in a slow, calming breath. This is no time for feeling sorry. Cooper's got to suck it up and make things right.

Cooper tries to lift his head, discovers that someone must have taped a load of bricks to the back of his neck while he was unconscious, and gives up with a huff. He stares up at the ceiling, avoiding the glare of the buzzing lights, pissed off and discouraged not a full minute after waking.

_Do something about it, _he can almost hear his father saying. _Don't just sit there like some brooding teenager. Be a man about it. _

That pisses Cooper off even more, and he twists his head around, ignoring the bolt of pain that he's pretty sure just cooked his eyeballs from the inside.

"Blaingh," he mumbles, words slurring maddeningly through his lips. Blaine gives a startled jolt, jerking upright and blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Coop," he gasps, stumbling to Cooper's side. "Hey! How do you feel?"

Cooper tries to label the dull pain radiating in his head. "Like I got hit by a truck."

Oh. Fuck.

Blaine winces slightly, lowering his eyes to his shoes, Cooper exhales heavily, wondering when the fuck he's going to stop having to say sorry.

"Blaine…"

Blaine shakes his head, offering Cooper a forced smile, dragging his chair closer to Cooper's bed. "It's okay. Don't worry."

Cooper closes his eyes briefly, lifting a shaking hand to rub over his face. "What the hell happened?"

Blaine fidgets with the scratchy blanket covering Cooper's knees. "You passed out again. They kept you under to run some tests, and I guess you've got a really bad concussion or something. The doctor said they're going to do more tests to make sure there isn't any lasting damage, but you're awake so you should be okay." Blaine's voice shakes slightly before he falls silent, twisting the blanket around his fingers so tightly that his skin turns an angry red.

Cooper swallows, wetting his lips to speak, but he flounders, unable to decide on something satisfactory to say. Blaine's lip is trembling and Cooper doesn't think he can see his little brother cry again, not today. He reaches out, closing his fingers firmly around Blaine's, and Blaine drops the blanket and clings with both hands, letting out a shaky breath.

"It's okay," Cooper says softly, and Blaine shakes his head, sniffling wetly.

"I'm so sorry for what I said, Coop," he whispers, gazing imploringly at Cooper, hazel eyes huge and brimming with tears. It takes Cooper a second to remember, get past the pain in his head.

"_I didn't think you would come." _

Oh. Right. Yeah, that had stung, and more than a little. But Cooper shakes his head too, gritting his teeth against the massive throb that blossoms in his temple, and he wonders how long he's been lying here, unconscious and unaware, while Blaine berated himself, blamed himself for this. Cooper may not know Blaine as well as he used to, but he knows that Blaine has made a habit of blaming just one person: himself. Cooper can't count how many times he's had to talk a miserable, angry Blaine out of accepting that it was his fault that those jocks found him and Ethan the night of the dance, that he deserved the insults and the hits, that he'd brought them on himself. Cooper had always been able to convince Blaine that the world was just a broken, fucked up place, and that Blaine was one of the few people that kept it bright and happy, but he'd still been able to see the doubt in Blaine's eyes, no matter how hard Cooper tried to fill those eyes with happiness.

"Blaine, just… shut up." Cooper mumbles, too dizzy to produce his usual eloquence, and tugs Blaine closer to drop a kiss to Blaine's crusted curls. Blaine laughs slightly, sniffing away the tears and dropping his head to Cooper's shoulder. Cooper sighs and cards his fingers through his little brother's hair, trying to organize the jumbled mess that makes up the past few hours. Or has it been more than that? The windows are dark, though Cooper was sure the sky had been full of sunshine before the ER shut it out.

"How long was I out this time?" he asks hoarsely, eyes scanning the room for a clock. Blaine lifts his head, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes.

"Um, a few hours. It's like ten or something."

"Christ," Cooper mutters. Blaine smiles wanly.

"Yeah. I was getting worried." Cooper grimaces and nudges Blaine's hand with his elbow.

"Well, I'm up now. I'm sure you'll be wishing I'd stayed unconscious after about twenty minutes or so, I know how this goes."

"Shut up, Coop." Blaine rolls his eyes but he's laughing, swatting at Cooper's arm.

"Blaine? I brought coffee."

Cooper jumps, twisting his neck painfully to face the doorway. A young man stands there, Styrofoam coffee cups in both hands, and Cooper dimly concludes that even while motionless, this boy radiates elegance. His white button up and jet-black dress pants are rumpled and his light brown hair tumbles carelessly over his forehead but he holds himself with the utmost poise, as if he's fully prepared to strut down a catwalk at a moment's notice. He looks at Cooper with measured blue eyes, angling his chin slightly before that sharply scrutinizing gaze turns to Blaine and melts into sky-blue adoration.

This must be Kurt. Cooper had examined his brother's boyfriend's Facebook page as carefully as any big brother knows how, but the few, slightly blurry pictures had not done Kurt Hummel any bit of justice. Cooper kind of wants to launch out of the bed and give Blaine a congratulatory high five, but he's not sure how both Blaine and his head would take it.

"Oh. Should I get another?" Kurt's voice is high and lilting, matching perfectly with his elegant demeanor, and holy shit, _go Blaine._ Cooper realizes that both boys are waiting for him to respond and quickly tries to relocate his tongue.

"Oh, no, caffeine probably isn't a good idea at the moment," he manages. Blaine takes his coffee gratefully and Kurt hovers uncertainly for a moment before Blaine jumps up, offering Kurt the only chair before perching himself on the edge of Cooper's bed. Kurt smiles at Blaine, brushing his fingers over Blaine's knee, and Cooper watches the simple exchange in silence, picks up on the relaxed slump of Blaine's shoulders in Kurt's presence, the contented shine that glazes Kurt's eyes when he looks at Blaine, and Cooper realizes that not only has he missed Blaine's first boyfriend, he's missed Blaine falling in love for the first time. He was there for Blaine's first words, first steps, first tooth and when it fell out, first bike ride and first piano lesson, but he's missed these first moments of Blaine's adulthood; first show choir win, first kiss that mean more and lasted longer than some dare, first boyfriend and first love.

Blaine's in love. Blaine's growing up. And Cooper's missing it.

His throat feels too tight and he feels almost vulnerable, watching Blaine, seeing now all the holes he should have filled, should have mended while he still could. He's not surprised at the venom that had spewed from Blaine's tongue earlier; Cooper left Blaine to prejudice and rock salt slushies. Cooper would hate Cooper, too.

"It's good to meet you conscious, Cooper." Kurt says lightly, offering a delicate hand. Cooper swallows past the knot in his throat and extends his hand to meet Kurt's pulling his lips into a weak smile.

"So I'm assuming you've seen me sleep-drool. How pleasant." Kurt laughs, shaking his head, and his eyes are warm, less calculating now. "It's good to finally meet you, Kurt."

"I would say the same, but I was painfully unaware of your existence until earlier today." Kurt throws Blaine a look that's all perfectly arched eyebrows and a twist of his lips that plays at disapproval but is actually pure adoration and forgiveness, and Blaine ducks his head, eyes crinkling in shame.

"All is forgiven," Cooper teases, kicking Blaine from under his blankets. "Seems we're in the same boat. Secrets don't make friends, Blainers."

"Shut up, both of you," Blaine groans, dropping his head to his hands while Kurt laughs. It's so easy, teasing Blaine like he hasn't been gone a day, aided by an unexpected ally, even though so much has been left unsaid and will have to be brought to light eventually. In a little while, Cooper would like to believe that things will be all right. But first, he has to ask –

"Has anyone gotten any news on Quinn?"

Cooper hasn't forgotten, of course he hasn't. How could he forget the moment he grabbed her wrist in his hand, felt the faint flutter of life that told him that all was not yet irreparably broken? Cooper will never forget.

Kurt and Blaine stop popping hearts out of their eyes at each other and turn serious. Cooper's heart stutters and drops at the somber expressions on both of their faces.

"What? What happened?"

"She's in surgery," Blaine says softly. "They're trying to repair the damage to her… her spine." Blaine swallows hard and Cooper's not sure if the room was tinted this green before or if he's just going to pass out again.

"The odds are good though," Kurt interjects quickly, shooting Blaine a chastising look. "She'll live. She might even walk again. Breathe, Cooper."

Cooper breathes, sucking in a gulp of air that leaves him light-headed.

"She'll be okay," Blaine murmurs comfortingly, resting a strong hand on Cooper's knee. "It's okay, Coop. Stop beating yourself up. It could have happened to anyone – it was just bad timing."

_Bad timing is walking in front of a mother with a shopping cart when they're determined to find the best sale on diapers, _Cooper thinks. _It's not running some teenager off the road and ruining her life. _

But he doesn't say anything. He lets Blaine comfort him, look at him with a smile, something Cooper hasn't received from Blaine in such a long time. He watches as Kurt and Blaine banter and exchange touches and looks that make Cooper feel as if he's intruding on something private and personal, and he and Kurt tease Blaine as if they were born for that alone. Turns out, Blaine's bowtie addiction came back full force when he shed the Dalton blazer, and Cooper is absolutely delighted when Kurt makes some mention of getting someone named Santana to follow through with her suggestion of staging a gellervention for Blaine, because, honestly, if you use that much gel you might as well just call it a helmet.

Things aren't okay. Cooper knows that. But he can pretend for a little while, laugh and smile and ignore the ache of his body, ignore the thought of Quinn in surgery, knives and scalpels and stitches in her skin, ignore all the lives he's altered, the things he's broken, how much hurt both he and Blaine are holding cautiously just under the surface. He can pretend he hasn't missed so much, left behind so much, because the smile Kurt gives Blaine – the one that makes Cooper pretty sure that Kurt thinks the sun shines out of his little brother's ass – is disgustingly adorable and it's just what Blaine's always needed; someone to smile at him with the same love and affection that Cooper does.

Things aren't okay, but they will be in time.


	7. Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me

**A/N: soooo uh hi guys. i'm sincerely so sorry this update took me all of eternity, but here it is!**

**just a quick thanks to all the people who stuck with this fic til the end, and every single alert and review is SO greatly appreciated, you all are wonderful, thank you!**

**and now, without further ado, enjoy. **

* * *

><p>It's with small, shuffling steps that Kurt and Blaine make their way up to the Hudmel house, each movement slow and heavy with sleep deprivation. After the clock had bypassed 1am and Blaine had nearly nodded off into his lukewarm coffee, Cooper had shooed them out with a yawn of his own, telling them he wasn't going anywhere and that he'd rather not have Blaine drop dead to top everything else off. Blaine had refused at first, insisting that he could sleep in the sticky chair by Cooper's bedside but Cooper had threatened to call security and it was on Blaine's huge, protesting yawn that Kurt had squeezed Cooper's hand and bustled Blaine out of the room while Blaine was still stammering through the fissure his yawn had left in his skull.<p>

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had yet to make an appearance, which baffles Kurt and makes him wonder if there's even more to the Anderson family dynamic that he doesn't know about. In stilted, sleepy sentences on the dark ride back home, Blaine had told Kurt about Cooper's estrangement from the family when he boarded that plane so many years ago; how, except for Kurt email and a brief phone call to ensure that Cooper's trust fund had been cut off, the elder Andersons acted much as if they'd never had another son. Kurt is shocked, trying to imagine being cut off from Burt for leaving to New York – lying injured in a hospital bed without harboring any hope for seeing his father. Kurt can't picture it. Aside from Blaine, Burt is the only certainty in Kurt's life. He just can't imagine anything but Burt caring for Kurt for the rest of his life.

Kurt pushes into the house, calling out a soft, "Dad?"

"In here, kiddo," Burt replies softly, and Kurt guides Blaine into the living room, where Burt stares blankly at the muted television, pillowing a lightly snoring Finn's head on his lap.

"How's your brother?" Burt asks without further greeting, twisting to face them, eyes drooping but still concerned.

Blaine smiles tiredly at Burt and Kurt shifts closer to his boyfriend, resting a steady hand on the small of Blaine's back. Blaine's smile hides what Kurt's already seen – exhaustion and worry, and Kurt just wants to get Blaine up to his room so he can hold him safe in his arms.

"He's good," Blaine says, voice dragging with exhaustion but somehow still managing a sliver of cheer. "He's been awake. The doctors say he'll be fine."

"Good." Burt says gruffly, passing a hand over his haggard face and letting out a heavy sigh.

"How's Finn?" Kurt queries, nodding at the gangling boy draped over and off the couch. Burt lets out a small snort and gently ruffles Finn's hair.

"Managing well enough for the moment. Once he heard Quinn was gonna make it he was out like a light."

Kurt nods, sliding his arm around Blaine's waist as Blaine wobbles slightly against Kurt's shoulder.

"Dad, Blaine's going to stay here tonight, okay? It's really late and there's no way either one of us will make it to his house."

Burt waves his hand at them, nodding. "Door open, please."

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly at his father. "Don't worry, Dad. Goodnight."

"Night, boys." Burt yawns widely and rests his hand on the top of Finn's head, muttering something about a sore back in the morning as Kurt and Blaine stumble up the stairs towards Kurt's bedroom.

"Thank god," Blaine groans, going to flop face-first onto Kurt's bed, but Kurt captures the back of his shirt, tugging him gently back.

"That shirt's seen enough distress today, don't you think?" Kurt teases softly, twirling Blaine under his hands and dropping his fingers to the buttons of Blaine's shirt. A ghost of a smile tugs at Blaine's lips and Kurt smiles back, easing the shirt off Blaine's shoulders.

They undress each-other slowly, clumsily; they aren't aiming for intimacy, just comfort and love and the sleep that awaits them under Kurt's crisp sheets. Kurt flips off the light and lies back with a sigh, opening his arms for Blaine. Blaine hums a little and drags himself up to curl against Kurt's bare chest, breath ghosting over Kurt's neck, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. They lie there in the dark, skin on skin, Blaine's body a warm comfort to the things still spiraling around in Kurt's head. He feels like this day has been stretched into a week, or maybe even two – was it really only this morning that they had won Regionals? Just eight since Rachel had shoved a pink bouquet into his hands and rattled off some speech about how she hadn't been able to find him a matching dress at such short notice and he had contemplated how long it would take her to asphyxiate on the flowers in her throat? Kurt wonders at time; so easily manipulated and varied to each individual.

And then there's Blaine, and Kurt thinks this day must feel like a year to his boyfriend. He scrunches his fingers in Blaine's messy, rumpled hair, and startles a little when Blaine speaks.

"I wonder if I sleep long enough, I'll wake up tomorrow and none of this ever happened," he murmurs, hand sliding up Kurt's side, fingers slotting between Kurt's ribs as he goes. Kurt hears his throat contract in a nervous swallow and he drops a light kiss to the top of Blaine's head.

"It'll be okay," he whispers gently, hugging Blaine more securely to him. "You're going to wake up tomorrow and you'll see that everything is going to be alright – even if it doesn't feel like it right now." Kurt's saying that to himself as much as he is to Blaine; he's still scared, still jolted and unsettled, but he's got Blaine's weight solid and comforting against his chest, and he knows that together they can overcome anything.

Blaine sighs and scoots closer, tucking his head under Kurt's chin. "I love you so much."

Kurt smiles into the dark. "I love you, too."

They're silent for a moment, listening to the soothing in and out of their breathing before Kurt speaks up, eyelids drifting down and words dragging on his tongue. "Ready to sleep?"

Blaine huffs out a short, sweet laugh against Kurt's collarbone, stretching up to plant a messy kiss on the corner of Kurt's mouth before plunking his head onto Kurt's shoulder. "Ready to sleep."


End file.
